


Charades

by tattooeddevil



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooeddevil/pseuds/tattooeddevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's sick and loses his voice. He really only needs one sign to communicate with Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charades

The first thing he feels when he wakes up is the lump in the back of his throat. He coughs to clear it, sending a shooting pain through his throat. It's as if there are shards of glass stuck on the inside, scraping and stinging with every swallow and cough. He groans, funnily enough without a sound. It is then that he realizes the cough was silent too. He opens his mouth to say "Dean", but all that comes out is a painful rasp that makes him wince. No voice then.

Dean's still asleep in the next bed, completely zonked out after hitting the bar the night before. He thinks he heard Dean stumble in around 4am, so it's no wonder he's still out cold. He sits on the side of his bed for a second, poking around his sore throat and swollen glands before deciding an aspirin and some hot tea are in order.

When he stands, the room spins a little and he has to reach out to steady himself against the wall next to his bed. He feels his temperature rise and his head starts to throb and he realizes with a sinking feeling he is sick. He hates being sick. He He never gets sick, so when he does it's like his body is getting all the sick out that's been saved up, in one go. He's never lost his voice before though. He guesses he should be practicing his charade skills if he wants to make anything clear to Dean.

Sam manages to get to the first aid kit that holds the aspirin and then the kitchenette for some water to down the pills with, his throat screaming with pain as he swallows. He's halfway back to his bed, when Dean stirs and lifts a groggy head from his pillow. He peers at Sam with one slightly opened eye.

"What time is it?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, just groans before flipping onto his back and pushing himself up. Sam doesn't watch what happens next, just flops back down on his own bed, but he knows Dean's morning routine by heart. He can follow Dean's every move by just listening to the sounds in the room. Sheets rustling? Dean getting up. Feet padding away, door creaking open and softly clicking shut before there's a few seconds of silence? Dean taking a piss. Door creaking open, feet padding back to the bed and a soft whisper of clothing? Dean stripping down and grabbing a towel from his bag. Soft feet padding away again, creaky door, water being turned on? Dean shaving before showering. Yup, water's being turned on, the jingle of plastic rings on a metal bar is Dean dragging the shower curtain closed. Sam figures he's got about ten minutes to let the aspirin kick in and fall asleep again.

When he wakes up again, Dean is wafting a steaming breakfast roll under his nose.

"Wake up, princess. I got us breakfast."

He groans - or tries to at least - but doesn't get up. Dean can have all the breakfast rolls as far as he is concerned. His throat still feels like it's being attacked by pissed off fire ants and his head is throbbing in time with his heartbeat. His eyes are puffy and he's pretty sure he's got a fever. It's a miracle Dean hasn't picked up on it yet, his my-little-brother-is-hurting radar is usually much more sensitive than this.

"Come on man, we gotta go."

He looks up at Sam and waggles his eyebrows.

"Kathy Williams, dude."

Right, the cheerleader in New Mexico. Dean's mind firmly on getting laid and everything else falls away. Well, he can drive to New Mexico himself and leave Sam here for all Sam cares. He ain't going anywhere. He lets his eyes slip shut again and prays for sleep to come fast again. If he can get a few hours of decent sleep, he might be able to get rid of this annoying cold.

Dean's not having any of it though. He stuffs a roll in his mouth with his right hand and rips the sheets off Sam with his left. Sam protest loudly, or he would have if he had any voice left. Instead, he flails his arms around and does his best impression of an irritated fish. That finally gets Dean's attention. He lets the sheet fall to the ground and narrows his eyes to study Sam. Sam rolls his eyes and lets himself flop back on his bed.

"Dude. Are you sick?"

Sam makes a rude gesture that he hopes signals 'no shit, Sherlock' and Dean seems to get it.

"Fuck you, I was distracted. Kathy has fabulous boobs."

Sam sighs and flips himself over on his stomach, so he can bury his face in his pillow. Dean merely chuckles and drapes Sam's sheet back over him.

"Alright, you just sleep. You need anything?"

Sam shakes his head as best as he can and Dean chuckles again.

"We need to come up with a signalling system or something."

Sam musters up the energy to lift one arm and flip Dean the bird. _Only signal I need_.

He falls back in an uncomfortable slumber, never deep enough to really sleep. That always happens when he gets seriously sick. He can't sleep, so he can't get any decent rest. Pills hardly help, although he swallows down everything Dean forces on him. Not without any protest though, Dean has no idea how much it hurts to swallow, but all he can really do is swat at Dean's hands weakly and pout when Dean wrestles him down and makes him take the pills anyway. His middle finger is still the only signal he needs.

By lunchtime Dean is appropriately bored - I could be having amazing sex right now, Sammy, instead I am here tending to your pathetic ass - and starts mocking Sam. He starts making exaggerated gestures and prompts Sam to guess what he's trying to say.

"Speak up, Sam, I can't hear you."

He starts calling Sam Mutey McMuterson, which amuses him way too much. Sam just uses his favorite gesture.

"Ooooh yeah, we could play Rude Charades! I'll go first!"

Sam closes his eyes with a soundless groan and tries to go to sleep. Dean forces more pills down his throat and takes his temperature. Obviously not without lewd remarks that Sam can't protest to. Vocally anyway.

"Score for me, now you can't go around screaming bloody murder when I take your temperature rectally."

Sam can however protest bodily. He rips the thermometer from Dean's hand. He first gestures to the thermometer, then to Dean's ass and then motions in an upward gesture with the thermometer. _I'll stick it up **your** ass!_

Dean just laughs and takes Sam's temperature via his ear.

"101, not too bad. You feeling okay?"

Sam nods and points at his throat. He makes a drinking gesture before pointing at his empty water glass. It takes Dean a few moments to catch on and when he does he rolls his eyes, but goes to get Sam a glass of water.

"You're totally gonna exploit this, aren't you?"

Sam smirks and nods. He carefully takes small sips from his water until the glass is empty. Dean watches him like a hawk the whole time, it actually makes smile Sam a little. Protective mode full on.

He finally falls asleep at 5.30pm. By that time, they figured out rude gestures aren't really constructive to getting through the day somewhat reasonably, so they switched to paper and pen. Although Sam's last message was a scrawled 'BITE ME' with a little raised middle finger next to it. Still the only signal he needs.


End file.
